


Two Plus Two Equals Five

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Series: Counting Backwards [3]
Category: Super Junior, Super Junior M
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-13
Updated: 2011-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-24 14:18:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donghae lets the challenge hang between them for a moment, and when Sungmin doesn’t take it, he adds, “We’ve made a bet, Hyukjae and me. Two hundred thousand won. He thinks your girly act can fool anyone. I don’t think it can.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Plus Two Equals Five

Donghae puts forward his great idea when they’re in the dorms. In the kitchen, to be precise, where anyone could hear. He comes over, Hyukjae trailing after him, and says, “Sungmin, we’ve been talking, Hyukjae and me, and we’ve had this brilliant idea. Wouldn’t it be hilarious if you did your dress-up thing and managed to fool someone else? Properly fool them, I mean. Properly make them think you were a girl.”

Sungmin freezes in the act of wiping dry a bowl from the stack of plates and dishes left on the draining board. He stares at Donghae, too stunned to find words of protest or anger. And Hyukjae says nothing, doesn’t even deny his part in the plan, but just stands there and stares at the shiny taps of the sink.

“You’re so fucking hot, Min,” Donghae continues with relish. “As a girl, I mean. I could almost forget you were you. So I said to Hyukjae, I wonder if he— _she_ —could really trick someone else.”

“No.” Sungmin’s voice is hoarse. “You knew it was me. I didn’t fool you.”

Donghae holds up his hands, framing Sungmin’s head and shoulders as if through a viewfinder. “If you had longer hair, wore it more in your face—that would disguise you a bit more. And that club last week had way too many lasers and shit. If we took you someplace dark, no one would know.”

“No.” Sungmin struggles, his mind only now catching up with the reality of the situation. He can’t believe Donghae is talking about this, talking about it _here_ , talking about it like it’s some kind of cheap party trick, something to be rolled out as entertainment. He’s too off-balance to order his thoughts, too wounded by Hyukjae’s refusal to speak, and all Sungmin can find to say is: “This isn’t—I don’t... It’s not a performance piece.”

Donghae just looks at him, looks at him with too much knowledge and a splinter of kindness, and says, “Isn’t it?”

And still Hyukjae says nothing, his gaze on the floor now, his mouth set in a downward curve.

“If you don’t think you can cut it...” Donghae lets the challenge hang between them for a moment, and when Sungmin doesn’t take it, he adds, “We’ve made a bet, Hyukjae and me. Two hundred thousand won. He thinks your girly act can fool anyone. I don’t think it can.”

Sungmin knows he’s being manipulated, knows that Donghae is aware of exactly which buttons to press to make him react. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that the idea is obviously Donghae’s brainchild alone, that the bet is obviously not the point of the exercise—what matters, what really matters, is that Hyukjae _says nothing_.

Before he can think any more, before it gets too painful, Sungmin says, “Who am I trying to fool?”

Donghae’s surprise is almost funny. He stares, recovers; says, “I’ll make it easy on you. I’ll pick someone who’s more concerned with their own looks than with yours.”

“How kind.” An icy calm descends, cleanses all confusion from Sungmin’s mind. “When do you want to do this?”

The thing about Donghae is that he’s quick. It’s obvious that he didn’t expect Sungmin to accept the idea, but now the opportunity lies before him, he’s going to make the most of it. He’s almost as easy to read as Hyukjae, his thoughts just as transparent on his face, and Sungmin isn’t surprised when Donghae says, “Thursday.”

It’ll be the fourth Thursday of the month. It breaks every rule Sungmin’s made to protect himself, but what does it matter when Hyukjae won’t defend his girlfriend? Everything is fucked up already, and Hyukjae has made no move to talk to him, and Sungmin is too afraid to begin a conversation, so why should any of this be a problem? Perhaps they can fix this. Perhaps, if he can win the bet for Hyukjae, it’ll make things better.

Sungmin doesn’t know. The lack of control he has over the situation pushes him into recklessness. Things can’t get any worse.

He nods. “Thursday. I’ll be ready.”

“Are you— I mean, that’s great.” Donghae’s enthusiastic expression fades a little, cracks to show a glimmer of confusion, but then he smiles again. “Leave it up to me, babe!”

A second later, he realises what he’s just said. He blanches, laughs it off—“Maybe I’ll lose the bet before we even get started”—then his smile drops again and he stares at Sungmin for a long moment before he shakes himself free. He turns, mock-punches Hyukjae’s shoulder and says, “Dude. Let’s go.”

Hyukjae bites his lip, shakes his head.

Donghae glances at Sungmin. “Okay, right. I’ll just be...” He waves a hand in an arbitrary gesture and slopes away.

In the silence that follows, Sungmin feels the weight of the air pressing in on him. He can’t move. In a voice he barely recognises as his own, he asks, “Do I scare you that much?”

“Like this, you confuse me,” Hyukjae says, not meeting Sungmin’s gaze. “It’s easier when you’re her. Everything’s easier.”

Sungmin takes a sharp, shallow breath. Emotion crushes him. It takes him a moment to realise it’s grief. “Oh,” he whispers. “Oh, Hyukkie.”

Hyukjae looks at him then, a single fierce look that could mean everything or nothing at all, and then he swings away, almost flees from the kitchen.

Sungmin remembers the cloth in his hand, the shape of the bowl inside it. He drops his gaze, stares at the white porcelain with its repeating pattern of blue box meanders. He loosens his grip. The bowl falls and smashes on the floor.

Ryeowook hears; comes running from his room to find Sungmin still holding the tea towel, sherds shattered around his feet. “Min, are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Sungmin crouches to retrieve the broken pieces of the bowl. The edges are sharp. He bows his head, hair falling into his eyes as his vision blurs. “I’m fine.”

* * *

“This is a bad idea.”

She says it to herself, murmurs it beneath her breath, giving life to her fears. It’s not like anyone can hear her, not with the thud of music rolling around the club, but she feels better acknowledging her thoughts out loud. She says it again in her normal voice, her masculine voice, but through the distortion of the bass line she doesn’t know if she sounds like a man or a woman.

She gives up and leans against the railing of the staircase leading up to the VIP box. Her outfit is garnering looks of curiosity and disdain from other girls. They group together and look at her, careful raking glances from toe to head, measuring her worth. She’s out of place and she knows it, and they show their scorn with simple gestures, a lift of the shoulder, a flick of the hair.

She forces herself to meet their collective gaze, sees herself through their eyes. A country girl, new to the big city, stumbled by mistake into an exclusive nightclub. A girl without much money, a girl with nothing to offer but her wide-eyed innocence. A girl dressed in chain store clothing: a black off-the-shoulder gypsy top, the ruching making the most of her flat chest, and a floaty knee-length skirt patterned with pink roses. Bare legs, strappy patent leather sandals with a small heel. A length of black satin ribbon worn as a choker around her neck. Her hair loose, left to tumble in soft-curling waves over her shoulders and down her back.

She’s nothing special compared to the expertly made-up and coiffed girls in their designer labels, and yet there’s something about her, something different, and the other girls stab at her with their looks as they try to understand the appeal of the sparrow amidst the swans.

She hopes they mistake nervousness for confidence. She fools a lot of people that way. It’s all a matter of control. She directs her anxiety into showmanship, and the audience rarely bothers to look past the illusion she’s created.

Sometimes she wishes they would, but she’s never certain what they’d see behind her smile. If she was braver, she’d ask Donghae. He saw through her at second glance, but despite his knowledge, his experience of her, he treats it—and her—as if it’s a game.

There’s a vibration through the railings at her back. She turns her head, follows the rattle of footsteps down the metal staircase. A security guy in a bad suit looks at her, beckons her over. He opens a little gate and stands aside for her to pass, then takes up position at the foot of the steps.

Curiosity follows her up the staircase to the VIP box. She resists the urge to turn and wave, maybe even dip a curtsey, to the girls below.

Donghae meets her just outside the door. He’s wearing a baseball cap low over his face and keeps his back to the dance floor.

“This is a bad idea,” she says again.

He flashes a grin. “Don’t sweat it, babe. You’ll be great.”

“He’ll know.” Unease is churning in her stomach. A wash of almost-nausea climbs her throat. She clutches at her purse, twists the strap tight between her fingers. She should never have agreed to this. It’s madness; sheer, unadulterated folly, and she has no way out. Not now it’s gone this far; not when there’s a pack of girls circling the dance floor eager for her to be rejected, waiting for her to fail.

She has too much pride to fall at this hurdle. She has too much pride, and that’s what led her into this mess.

“He’ll know,” she repeats, “and I’ll look like an idiot.”

Donghae checks her out, slowly. “Darling, you could never look like an idiot.” He gives her a mock leer that reminds her of too much. “But if he guesses, no problem—I win the bet. And I promise I’ll buy you some really sexy lingerie when I win.”

She gives him a spiked look. “I’d prefer it if you bought me dinner.”

“Dinner and lingerie.” He’s unrepentant, waggling his eyebrows, and though tension is crippling her, she can’t help but find him amusing.

“Hyukjae showed me a sexy underwear catalogue,” Donghae continues. “He’s folded over the corners of all the pages showing the stuff he wants to buy for his princess. He said I could buy something for you, too.”

Her almost-giggle dies in her mouth. Memories rise up, lust and anger and desperation, and without wanting to she remembers how he felt inside her. The image burns. “It was just the once.”

“I know.” He makes puppy-dog eyes at her. “A guy can dream, right?”

She knows he doesn’t mean it, not really. He’s just trying to be funny. Trying to put her at ease. She needs to relax. She summons back her sense of humour and laughs.

“Good girl.” Donghae pulls her close for a moment and kisses her forehead. Then he lets her go. “Showtime.”

He opens the door and ushers her inside. The interior of the VIP box is so dark that she almost stumbles. The music thumps at the smoky glass of the window. Strobes flicker past like disoriented moths. The room smells of cologne and beer. Hyukjae is sitting on one side of the long, low table. She ignores him, focuses instead on the man at the far end of the table.

Siwon.

She forces herself to forget years of friendship and looks at him as an idol, as a man, a ridiculously handsome man, and she catches her breath, swallows a sudden rush of excitement. A wave of dizziness, of unreality, makes her sway, and she reaches out blindly in the half light. Donghae steadies her, his hand on her lower back, and then he’s leading her forward, introducing her as the sister of one of his friends from home.

She listens carefully as he spins his deceit. Donghae tells Siwon and Hyukjae that she’s newly arrived in Seoul. He says he’d offered to show her around the city and he thought it’d be fun for her to hang out with them for the evening. She licks her lower lip, fidgets with her purse. Somehow it’s easy to pretend she’s a little overawed by the company she’s keeping.

Donghae is enjoying his role. “I guess you don’t really need me to tell you who these guys are,” he says, “but Siwon’s the good-looking one and Hyukjae is the ugly one.”

Anger bolts through her at such flippant criticism of her boyfriend, but she controls her reaction and smiles and bows and murmurs a polite greeting. She’s aware of Hyukjae staring at her, but rather than return his gaze, she darts a glance at Siwon. That’s why she’s here, after all. To win the bet. To see if she can make Siwon believe she’s really a girl.

Hyukjae moves up on the banquette, pats the place next to him. He looks at her with hunger, too obvious in his desire, and she gives him a quelling glance before he can blow her cover and ruin the whole thing.

After all this time she knows what he likes, and she thinks she knows what Donghae likes, too, though it’s probably safe to say that Donghae likes anything that brings him pleasure. Siwon, though. Siwon is a different matter. She sends him a fluttering glance, still shy, and offers him another little smile.

“Sit with me, babe.” Donghae throws off his cap and pulls her down onto the seat beside him, handling her like he’d roughhouse with another man. She jabs her heel into his foot, making sure it’s hard enough to hurt. He opens his mouth to protest then recovers himself, gives her a watery smile and asks about her fictitious brother. She replies in monosyllables, awkward and self-conscious.

Across the table, Hyukjae is still staring. It’s starting to get uncomfortable. She shifts on the seat, smoothes her skirt over her knees in a repetitive gesture until she realises what she’s doing and stops. Donghae edges closer, flaunting his position as surrogate brother, though there’s nothing remotely fraternal about his too-friendly touches on her shoulder, her hand, her thigh.

Hyukjae leans back in his seat and folds his arms across his chest, looking away as if he’d rather be elsewhere. His jaw is tight, his lips pressed together in a violent line. Conversation shrivels. She drops her gaze, stares at the clutter of glasses and empty beer bottles. She considers herself a passable actor, but in the absence of a script, she’d rather direct. Unconsciously she turns, not towards Donghae but to Siwon, and she must look lost or helpless or something, because his expression softens when he meets her gaze, and then he glances past her at Donghae, and now he’s frowning.

“The lady must be thirsty. Why don’t you get us some more drinks?”

“Great idea.” Donghae jumps up, goes to the telephone set into the wall and rings down to the bar. He places the order without asking what they all want.

Siwon’s frown deepens. “Hae, why don’t you ask the lady what she would like to drink rather than just assuming?”

Even with the cover of the shadows, Donghae looks startled by his error. Still holding the phone, he asks her what she wants. She should probably think of another drink, but “Vodka and cranberry” trips from her mouth, confirming Donghae’s apparent assumption.

Donghae gives Siwon a triumphant look. “I know what she likes, okay? I always know what girls like.”

She purses her lips, trying not to laugh, hoping that she looks slightly disapproving instead.

Siwon sighs. “You’re hopeless.”

“Dude. I am the _coolest_. You just think you are, but you’re not. Chicks like cool guys, not nice guys.” Donghae drops back onto his seat, exuding bonhomie. “Am I right or am I right, babe?”

Now it’s really difficult to keep a straight face, but she manages it, meets Donghae’s smug gaze and blasts him with a withering look. “Actually...”

Siwon snorts.

She gives Siwon a sidelong glance, a shared twinkle of amusement, and he smiles and moves closer. “I’m so sorry, but I didn’t catch your name.”

She hesitates. Sungmin and Hyukjae have never given her a name. Maybe Hyukjae has, privately, but if so, he’s never shared it, and Sungmin has always been too afraid to name her, worried that doing so will make her too real. Now she realises that was an oversight, and she can’t think of a name, her mind is blank, and Siwon’s smiling at her, his eyes kind and interested, and she can’t think at all, she _can’t_ —

“Jade,” she says, breathless, heart pounding at her own stupidity.

Siwon’s smile intensifies. “Jade. How pretty.” He slides closer and takes her hand, dips his head and kisses her fingers.

She sits motionless, liquid sensation pooling in the pit of her stomach. She’s never felt so aware of her hand before. She wants to look at Hyukjae but doesn’t dare. Instead she stares at Siwon’s bent head, at the unruly waves of his hair, at the sweep of his brows, at the tiny scar across the bridge of his nose. He’s still holding her hand, his lips still moving over her fingers, feather-light, and he’s stroking the pad of his thumb over her inner wrist.

Her body responds, primal lust snatching her up and carrying away her sensibilities, batting aside the knowledge that her boyfriend is watching. Her boyfriend has already watched her with another man, so why should this be any different?

She withdraws her hand with a confused murmur, covers her fingers with her other hand as if trapping Siwon’s kiss. Her face flames. She can’t look at anyone.

Donghae chuckles. “You made her blush.”

“But that’s charming,” Siwon says. He leans towards her, comically contrite. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

She shakes her head, pulls at her hair to keep it wreathed around her face. “I just didn’t expect—”

There’s a knock at the door. A bartender comes in carrying a laden tray. Donghae dismisses him and distributes the drinks. He nudges the vodka and cranberry towards her, but before she can pick it up, Siwon lifts the glass and hands it to her, his smile radiant. She accepts it, lets her fingers brush against his, and gives him an answering smile.

They talk. She hardly knows what about, except it excludes both Donghae and Hyukjae. Siwon asks her questions and she answers, the tapestry of lies growing wider, more detailed, figures and events embroidered over when they wear thin. He listens to her with genuine interest, keeps his gaze on her face even when her skirt rides up and shows a glimpse of thigh. Time slips away, and this is all too easy, and she feels the heady pull of attraction between them. Her desire shocks her like ice water, and she glances around at the others, blinking in the darkness.

Hyukjae grabs for another beer. Three bottles stand empty before him, and the sight gives her pause, sounds warning bells in her head. She watches him, and he drinks too fast, gags on it, splutters. Liquid runs down his chin and spatters over his t-shirt. He holds the bottle at arm’s length, wipes his free hand across his face, and shoots Donghae a vicious look when he dares to laugh.

She aches for her foolish man, wants nothing more than to abandon the pretence and sit beside Hyukjae, to clean him with playful licks of her tongue, to snuggle against him in the shadowed warmth and listen to the blurring of the music beyond the walls of this room. But she sits in her place and plays her role, and instead of offering sympathy, she looks at Hyukjae with startled confusion mingled with censure.

Siwon gets up, moves around the table to offer assistance, but Hyukjae turns away and takes another swig of beer. Donghae flicks her a glance, appealing for her to do something. She grits her teeth and ignores him. This is his mess. Let him get them all out of it.

Donghae jumps to his feet. “I’m going to dance.” He holds out his hand to her. “Come on, babe, I’ll show you some moves.”

As ideas go it’s hardly inspired, but it does the trick. She stands, her hand locked in his, and they move towards the door. Siwon glances up, distracted from Hyukjae’s strange mood. “I’ll come, too.”

“We’ll all go,” Hyukjae says, his voice rough from coughing around the beer. He levers himself upright and grasps her upper arm. “Dance with me, Jade.”

Donghae lets go of her hand and backs off. “Hyukkie likes to think he’s the best dancer in the group,” he tells her, laughing, and then to Hyukjae he says, “Dude, if you want to embarrass yourself, go right ahead.”

“Screw you, Hae. I _am_ the best dancer. No competition.” Hyukjae tightens his grip on her arm, his fingers digging into soft flesh. He’s not even looking at her; he’s glaring at Donghae, and surely he doesn’t realise that he’s hurting her. She wriggles, tries to free herself, but he just increases the pressure.

Now it really hurts. She gasps.

“Hyukjae, for God’s sake!” Siwon sounds alarmed. He knocks over the empty beer bottles as he steps over the table. He doesn’t even look as they tumble and fall. Anger shines from him, brilliant and fierce, and he slices the blade of his hand down hard against Hyukjae’s bicep.

“Ow! What the fuck?” Instinctively Hyukjae loosens his grip, brings his arm up across his chest and rubs at where Siwon hit him. “Unnecessary, bro. That really hurts.”

Siwon jabs a finger at Hyukjae. “No, you idiot, you hurt _her_. Apologise.”

“It’s okay,” she says, trying to avert another miniature crisis. “Truly, I’m fine. I’m sure Hyukjae didn’t mean it.”

Hyukjae turns on her. “Mean what? What did I do?”

Donghae laughs awkwardly. “Dude, there must’ve been something in your beer, or were you sneaking shots before we came out? You’re acting weird.”

“I’m good. Great. Never better.” Hyukjae stares at her, intense and pained. “Jade. Baby. Come and dance with me?”

He reaches out and she shrinks back, pity and sorrow lining her throat. It’s only the second time she’s rejected him, and it hurts to recall the first time. He wears the same look of devastation and she almost buckles, almost goes and folds herself into him, but that’s not what she should do, it’s not part of what they planned.

Instead she takes shelter with Siwon, turns just a little and tucks herself in against his chest. She keeps a modest distance just in case he doesn’t want her, but then he slips an arm around her waist and draws her near, and she closes her eyes and puts her head on his shoulder and breathes him in. For the first time in a week she feels safe.

Murmurs wash around her. She doesn’t listen. She doesn’t want to be here anymore.

“Jade,” Siwon says, his voice deep and soft in her ear.

She pulls away. “I think I should go.”

“What? No.” Donghae shakes his head, laughs again. “You can’t go yet, it’s not even midnight. No one goes home before midnight!”

“I—I have to work tomorrow. I don’t want to be tired. Thank you for introducing me to your friends. It was... interesting meeting you both.” She bows, first to Hyukjae, then to Siwon. She straightens, looks directly at Donghae. “Walk me out?”

“Sure, babe, but I wish you’d stay.” He’s looking unhappy now. Her decision to leave nullifies the bet. No one has won. He’ll just have to get over it.

Donghae pushes away from the door. “Sure you won’t change your mind? We can leave these jerks here and grab a quiet drink someplace else if you want. I know somewhere good.”

She lets out a trembling breath. “I want to leave.”

Siwon steps forward again, comes to stand behind her. He doesn’t touch her, but she’s aware of him, tall and strong and protective. “I’ll take Jade home.”

Donghae stiffens. “What?”

“It’s not a problem,” Siwon says. “My car is right outside.”

The announcement seems to prompt Hyukjae into a protest. “No. You can’t go with him.” He lifts a hand in entreaty then turns it into a vague gesture, scrubbing his fingers through his hair instead. God, he looks so confused. “You have to dance with me. You have to.”

Siwon turns an enquiring look on her. “Jade, do you want to leave or do you want to stay a little longer?”

She hesitates only for a split-second. “I’ll come with you. Take me home.”

* * *

Siwon’s car has a driver. Of course it does. She should have expected it, but things are moving too fast, rolling into confusion, and she’s grateful that she doesn’t have to hide her reaction to this flash of wealth. She’s almost disappointed that the security guy let them leave through a side exit. She’d been looking forward to clinging to Siwon’s arm as he escorted her past the other girls. That small victory would at least have made up for this whole dismal enterprise.

She remembers to keep her head lowered beneath the lights outside the club. Siwon opens the car door for her, offers his hand to help her inside. She slides in, letting out a tiny exhalation of relief as the door clicks shut. She closes her eyes, relaxes back into the seat. Her moment of reprieve is broken when Siwon doesn’t sit in the front, as she’d expected, but instead sits beside her.

She pulls herself alert, arranges herself into a demure posture, knees pressed close together, her purse on her lap. She keeps her face slightly averted, not wanting to offer a clear profile. As the car pulls away, she breathes out, jagged and anxious, and casts a glance back towards the club.

No one has come after them. She doesn’t know what to think. Numbness creeps through her, wedges itself deep in her chest. She pulls her gaze away and looks forward. The car picks up speed, streetlights and neon signs intermittently splashing false colours through the darkness.

Siwon sighs, runs a hand over his face, and stares out of the window. He looks tired, and she feels bad for doing this to him. Maybe she should reveal the truth now, but she doesn’t know how he’ll react. He can be unpredictable sometimes, and he might be angry enough to kick her out onto the street, and she doesn’t want to walk home dressed like this.

Her phone starts ringing. She unfastens the clasp on her bag, about to answer it, then realises that her phone is Sungmin’s phone, and if Siwon sees it, he’ll know. She’s not ready for that, not yet, so she ignores the ringtone—thank God she changed it to something generic—and closes her bag.

Siwon looks at her. “Your phone. Aren’t you going to answer it?”

She gives him a bright smile. “It’ll just be my flatmate. I can call her back later.”

He frowns. “You should talk to her. She might be checking on your whereabouts. She might be worried.”

She hopes her laughter sounds light and carefree. “It’s okay. I’m safe with you, aren’t I?”

Siwon chuckles, resumes gazing out of the window. “I think so.”

It wasn’t the reply she was expecting. A thud of anxiety shakes her. What makes it worse is the fact that he hasn’t asked yet where she lives or where she wants to go.

* * *

Siwon doesn’t say anything after their short conversation, not even when they arrive at his place. He just climbs out of the car and opens the door for her, makes sure she has her purse, then bids goodnight to the driver. She stands and watches the car leave, then Siwon smiles at her and she follows him inside.

She supposes she should be irritated by his assumption, but instead she just feels relieved. It’s not like she’s in any danger. She’s been here before, but that was when she was Sungmin rather than Jade, so she remembers to make appropriate comments on the decor and how tidy it is and oh, what a pretty flower arrangement. He invites her to sit, and she sinks onto the couch. She dips her head as if shy, lets her hair fall into her face, and is thankful when Siwon moves around the sitting room turning on only a couple of lamps, keeping the ambient light at a low level.

Then she realises why he’s doing that, and maybe _this_ is the moment where she tells him the truth, but before she can work up her courage, he asks if she wants a drink, and it’s easier to say yes. It takes a certain kind of bravery to admit one’s faults and to tear down one’s illusions, and if she armours herself with a drink then maybe she’ll be okay.

Or maybe, like Hyukjae, she’ll make even more of a fool of herself.

The thought of her boyfriend sends her scrambling for her purse as soon as Siwon goes into the kitchen. She flips open her phone within the narrow confines of the bag and checks the display. Her missed call was from Hyukjae. She clears the screen and turns off the phone, shoves it to the bottom of the bag. Her throat is tight, almost sore.

Siwon returns with a carton of fruit juice and a shot of vodka in a tumbler—“I’m sorry, but I don’t have any cranberry juice. Will orange juice make an acceptable substitute?”—and when she nods, he pours it for her, swirls the juice and vodka together, and hands her the glass.

She drinks it fast, grateful for the smooth cold easing her throat. Siwon says nothing, just watches her, and she can’t read the expression in his eyes. Self-conscious, she slows down before she can finish the drink. She casts him an uncertain look, and he leans against the cushions and retrieves the thread of their conversation from the club.

He’s so attentive, so charming, that she starts to relax. The gulped vodka snakes into her system, bringing heady, gleeful disorientation. She doesn’t mind when he shifts nearer to her on the couch, when he puts an arm around her. She leans into him, giggling and light-headed, and he smiles down at her with so much affection she can believe this is real, and the punch of yearning is so violent that she trembles with the force of it.

Siwon notices, looks concerned. “Are you okay?”

She nods, buries her reaction in her glass, finishes her drink to avoid a reply.

Then Siwon takes the glass from her nerveless fingers, sets it down, and looks at her. His expression is sombre, his eyes very dark. He strokes her hair, tilts his head. She can barely breathe, her heart pounding so fast it’s like she’s dying.

Siwon edges closer. Puts one hand to her face. Kisses her.

It’s like a dam breaking. She makes a noise low in her throat and kisses him back.

His palm is warm against her cheek. The tip of his ring finger exerts the slightest pressure at her hairline, just behind her ear. His touch is considerate, gentle, soothing. She follows his lead, and when he moves, she sways after him.

He lies her down on the couch, making sure not to squash her, angling his body to give her space to stretch out and be comfortable. He keeps on kissing her, and she can’t seem to stop herself from responding. Never had she imagined that it would get this far, and she _really_ has to stop it now, but oh, he’ll be so angry when he finds out, and after kisses like these, he’ll be disappointed in her, and she can’t bear the thought of hurting him.

Siwon shifts against her, and now she can feel his erection pressing into her hip. Panic sends ice splintering through her. She has to come clean. She has to do it now, before it’s too late, before—

His kisses are too distracting. She melts beneath his touch, illusion and reality fusing into something far more dangerous. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t imagined this before: an idle daydream, a snapshot of meaningless fantasy to get her off when she plays with herself.

Then Siwon’s hand is on her thigh, stroking upwards, sliding beneath her skirt, and she gasps into his mouth, gasps in fear and tries to push his hand away.

He lifts his head, studies her. “I’m curious,” he says, very softly. “Just how far did you plan on taking this?”

She stares at him, frozen. “What?”

Siwon smiles, but it’s wan and not really amused. “Sungmin.”

Sungmin can’t move, his brain stuck on the shape of his name from Siwon’s lips, the same lips he was kissing a moment ago, and he can’t even begin to process what’s just happened. Long before rational thought kicks in, his body reacts with some kind of involuntary urge to flee and he bolts sideways and falls off the couch. He bangs his elbow on the coffee table, knocks over his empty glass. It cracks, shatters, and the sound is like a gunshot in the silent room. The tension of the night snaps, and Sungmin covers his mouth with his hands, sobs once in startled pain and despair.

“Oh, no. No, Min.” Siwon reaches for him, fusses over him and helps him up. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? _I’m_ the one that should be sorry. And I am. I’m sorry. So sorry.” Sungmin sits at the far end of the couch. His elbow smarts, a dull pain edged with knife-blade sharpness. “When did you know?”

Siwon rubs a hand over the back of his neck. He wrinkles his nose. “Pretty much straight away.”

“Shit.”

“It was kind of obvious when Donghae brought you in alone,” Siwon continues. “For that to have worked, he should’ve brought in two or three girls as smokescreens. So my attention wouldn’t always have been on you.”

“I told him that yesterday. He didn’t believe me.” Sungmin closes his eyes for a moment and rests his head against the back of the couch, then he turns to look at Siwon. “So you knew the whole time. Why did you go along with it?”

Siwon shrugs. “Curious, I guess. I wondered why you were doing it.”

“A bet.” The words come out low and bitter. Sungmin brings his knees to his chest, careless of the way his skirt rides up. Doesn’t matter now. He has nothing to hide. “Donghae made a bet with Hyukjae that I wouldn’t be able to fool you. Hyukjae said you wouldn’t be able to tell. You’d think I was a girl.”

Silence, then Siwon says hesitantly, “You make a really pretty girl, if it helps.”

“Yeah. Sure.” It doesn’t help.

“But your smile, your eyes... Not even all that make-up can hide you.”

The remark should sound flippant, but it doesn’t. Sungmin shakes his head. He’s tired, and he thought he’d feel stupid when the truth came out, but instead he feels caught between vulnerability and calm. He breathes in, exhales, aware of the alcohol still buzzing through his head, the taste of Siwon’s kisses still on his tongue. He touches a fingertip to the tacky gloss remains of his lipstick then glances sidelong, realises he’s left rose-pink smudges across Siwon’s mouth. It’s kind of cute, and it makes Sungmin smile.

“Do you want me to go back to the dorms?”

Siwon waves a hand. “Stay here if you want. Take a shower. Wash all that crap off. I’ll find something for you to wear.” He stands and leaves the room, returning with a folded towel, placing it on the arm of the couch. Sungmin rubs the back of his hand across the cloth, feels softness and warmth. He burrows his fingers beneath it, tucks the towel against him, and gets to his feet.

He knows where the bathroom is. He doesn’t have to feign ignorance any more.

* * *

He takes off Jade’s clothes, folds them neatly, and sets them on the floor. He removes the wig, brushes through it with his fingers, then places it on top of the clothes. When he looks in the mirror, he’s almost himself again, peering from behind a mask of feminine illusion. His lashes are weighted with mascara. His eyes are very bright.

He turns on the shower and steps in, dips his head beneath the pounding spray. The gel that held his hair smooth and flat against his skull loosens then slicks away, and his hair slides blackly into his face. Sungmin washes his hair, cleans off his make-up. Smudges of mascara and kohl stain the washcloth. He rubs soap over it until it’s clean, too.

When he’s stood beneath the water for at least ten minutes, he lifts a leg and braces himself against the wall, his weight through his raised knee. Brow furrowed with concentration, he runs his thumbnail along one side of the duct tape fastening his cock out of the way. The skin there is sensitive, and it takes a few minutes of gentle manipulation and the soothing help of the water before he peels back the tape and the protective layer of tissue. He balls it up in his hand and drops the soggy mass onto the floor.

Water droplets glisten from the shiny black tape. Sungmin stares at it as he washes between his legs, cleaning away any sticky residue. Then he turns his back on it, faces the spray and tucks his hands against his chest, lets the heat run over him.

He wonders what Hyukjae would have said if he’d answered the phone.

He wonders what Hyukjae did when he didn’t answer. How Hyukjae felt. What he’s feeling now. Donghae probably took him home. Or maybe they went somewhere else to dance and drink. Maybe Hyukjae met a girl, a real girl, someone uncomplicated and sweet, the kind of girl Hyukjae deserves, the kind of girl Jade can never be.

A sound escapes Sungmin’s lips. He kills it, then buries it beneath the pulse of the water.

The bathroom door opens. Siwon comes in and lays some clothes on the edge of the bath. He looks at Jade’s outfit, at the wig. He hesitates, then picks them up. As he leaves, he casts a glance at the shower. He drops his gaze, blushes. Maybe it’s the steam.

Sungmin turns off the water and gets out. He dries himself, moving like a ghost through the heat-fogged bathroom, and puts on Siwon’s clothes. A pair of shorts. A t-shirt. He towel-dries his hair, cleans his teeth using his finger and too much toothpaste, rinses his mouth. The mirror is grey with condensation. He doesn’t wipe it away. He stares at his lack of reflection for a long moment.

The towel is a damp, heavy weight around his neck as he pads through the apartment. He finds Siwon in bed, a single lamp the only illumination. Siwon puts down the magazine he was pretending to read and offers Sungmin a small smile. “Tired?”

“Yes.” Sungmin digs his toes into the pile of the rug. “No.” He goes forward and sits on the end of the bed. Stares at the wall.

“Come up here,” Siwon says quietly. “We can talk about it.”

“I don’t want to.” Sungmin sits there, then changes his mind, looks around for somewhere to put the towel—“Just leave it on the floor, it’s okay,” Siwon tells him—then crawls up the bed. Siwon lifts a corner of the duvet, inviting him in, and Sungmin curls beside him. “I don’t know what I want.”

Siwon is warm and safe. He strokes Sungmin’s damp hair with gentle affection, and when the silence spools out, he says, “You said it was a bet, but I don’t understand it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sungmin says. “It was just a stupid idea. And it doesn’t matter, because no one won.”

Siwon sighs. “Donghae was pretty good, I’ll give him that. The ‘this is my friend’s sister’ thing. I could almost have believed that part, but Hyukjae... What was wrong with him? I’ve never seen him act like that.” Siwon pauses, then says in a different tone of voice, “Ah. He wasn’t acting. That was the problem.”

Sungmin says nothing.

“You and Hyukjae,” Siwon says. “Are you—um, are you together? A couple?”

Sungmin feels hollow. “I don’t know.”

Siwon is quiet for a moment. “Let me phrase it another way. Jade and Hyukjae—are _they_ together?”

“Yes.”

“But not Sungmin and Hyukjae.”

Sungmin curls tighter, presses closer. “No.”

Another silence. “Ai. That’s... that’s complicated.”

“Yes.” His heart is breaking.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

Sungmin almost shakes his head, but the desire to confide in someone has become too great, and he needs to spill this out somehow before he goes mad. He takes a deep breath, feels the pain in his chest shift, and starts talking.

He tells Siwon how it began, months ago, maybe even longer back than that, when he’d fallen in love with Hyukjae. In soft, dull tones he narrates how he carried his love around, fed it with pretence, nursed it with illusion, until he believed Hyukjae felt the same. He relives the moment he told Hyukjae “I love you”, feels again the crush of his hopes when Hyukjae had looked stunned, when he’d laughed nervously and then apologised for laughing, when he’d walked around the room in circles with his hands to his face before saying “I can’t do it with another guy. I love you as a friend, my really good friend, my close friend, one of my best friends, but I can’t do anything else, I can’t, Min, I just can’t.”

Sungmin’s voice wobbles when he repeats Hyukjae’s words. He recovers himself, reassured by Siwon’s silence, and continues. He says he could accept Hyukjae’s feelings. It hurt, but he understood. Hyukjae never treated him any differently after that, didn’t shut him out, didn’t pull away, and things went on as if the confession had never been made. It was fine, everything was great, until one day they were talking about girls, and Hyukjae said—jokingly, but also wistfully—“Min, if you were a girl, there’d be no problem, no problem at all. I’d fall in love with you immediately.”

And so, Sungmin says, and so the idea came to him, and he offered to dress up as a girl. “Just to try it, just to see if we could, if it would make things easier, if it would change the way he felt”—and it worked, oh how it worked. The more Sungmin offered, the more Hyukjae took, and the more Sungmin perfected his female role, the more Hyukjae wanted her, until he was addicted, they were both addicted, Hyukjae in love with a girl who wasn’t real and Sungmin in love with a man who only wanted him as a fantasy.

It was going too fast, getting out of control, and Sungmin needed to make it safe, needed to put limits on it. So he established a few rules: she would only meet with Hyukjae on the third Thursday of the month. She would contact him. If he tried to call or text her, the date would be cancelled. Everything was done on her terms.

“I said it was to protect us both,” Sungmin says, voice husky from all the talking, from the backwash of emotion. “But really it was to protect myself. Hyukkie has never been anything other than honest with me. I’m the one who wanted the impossible dream.”

He stops there and awaits judgement.

Siwon exhales; asks, “Where does Donghae fit into this?”

“Donghae is Donghae.” Sungmin half smiles. He’s not going to blame Donghae for any of this. He’d like to, but he won’t. “He’s an opportunist. He just likes to fuck.”

“Oh?” Siwon sounds startled. “Oh.” Silence, then: “Hyukjae _allowed_ that?”

Sungmin gives a tired chuckle. “It’s... it sounds kind of sordid. But I think I—she—was in charge.”

He tells him, dispassionately, about last week. About Donghae inviting himself along on date night, about Hyukjae being both unable to say no to his friend and unable to break the rules governing his relationship with Jade. He gets halfway through the account of what happened between the three of them in the hotel room when Siwon moves a little restlessly, and Sungmin thinks he must be bored.

Silence swaddles them. Sungmin is lulled by the sense of safety, sinking into warmth and Siwon’s scent, hypnotised by the memory of his own voice spilling out truths. He drifts, not yet asleep but not quite awake. “One thing,” he murmurs, the thought spinning through his head. “You got hard for me when I was a girl.”

Siwon makes an amused sound. He takes Sungmin’s hand beneath the duvet and places it over his erection.

“Oh, God.” Snapped out of complacency, Sungmin tries to snatch his hand away, but Siwon’s grip around his wrist prevents him from doing so. “Oh, you pervert.”

Siwon purrs with laughter. “You’re the one telling me all this kinky stuff.”

Sungmin splutters. “Kinky stuff about your friends!”

“The libido is a bad judge of morality.” Siwon lets go, turns onto his side, his eyes bright as he gazes at Sungmin. They’re a little too close now, but Sungmin still feels safe. Siwon nudges closer still. Sungmin puts a hand on Siwon’s hip, strokes his flank through the thin cotton of his pyjama trousers. Siwon reciprocates, slides his fingers up beneath the t-shirt to touch bare skin.

They’re close enough to kiss now, their breath already mingled, their legs twisted together like braid, but Siwon hesitates, frowns. “I would never take advantage of a girl.”

Sungmin huffs. “But it’s okay to take advantage of me?”

“Am I taking advantage?”

“I’m emotionally confused,” Sungmin retorts, sarcastic and a little amused.

“Are you?” Siwon asks, very softly. “Are you, Min?”

Sungmin is silent. Here’s a line. It’s drawn in sand. Tomorrow the tide will come and wash it away as if it never existed. Here’s a line. Cross it. Don’t cross it. It’s only sand.

“If you don’t want this, I’ll stop,” Siwon says. “I’ll go next door and sleep on the couch.”

Sungmin doesn’t think he’s ever seen Siwon look so intense. It’s strange and it makes him feel breathless. “I didn’t know—didn’t think you were interested in—”

“I really like you.” Siwon’s eyes blaze. His expression is serious, as if he’s about to say something terribly important. “Sungmin, I...”

Sungmin kisses Siwon to shut him up. There’s nothing that Siwon needs to tell him. Sungmin knows already. He knows, he sympathises, but it’s too late, too late for them both, and for that reason alone he should call a halt to this before it goes any further, but he can’t, because he wants the safety Siwon is offering, and most of all because he’s entangled in the intoxication of someone wanting him as a man.

They kiss, and it’s different this time, different because there’s no Jade for Sungmin to hide behind, different because he knows Siwon desires him. Sungmin likes the taste of these kisses, falls into the languorous drag of pleasure building between them. He pushes closer, slides his hand from Siwon’s flank to his ass and grips him tight. The cotton pyjamas wrinkle beneath his touch.

Siwon makes a hungry sound. It rolls through them, echoes inside Sungmin’s mind. He shoves closer still, feels the insistent press of Siwon’s cock against his belly. Sungmin lets go of Siwon to adjust his own erection, then rocks against him. It’s instinctive, easy, and there’s no guilt. Only the promise of joy.

Siwon squirms back, yanking at Sungmin’s t-shirt. They struggle apart, half sitting up as their clothes come off. When they’re naked, they pause, gaze at each other in the warm glow of the lamplight; stare as if they’re new to this, as if they’ve never seen one another undressed before.

They touch, wrap themselves into each other. A note rings inside Sungmin’s head, the note a glass makes in the moment before it shatters. He can’t stop it; he can’t stop this. He doesn’t want to stop.

Siwon slides a finger down Sungmin’s back, between his buttocks, and makes a choked, growly sound. “You’re smooth. You’re smooth _everywhere_.”

“It has to be like that,” Sungmin says. “When I become Jade, I need to—”

“Don’t tell me.” Awe paints Siwon’s tone. His fingers move, explore. “Oh, God.”

Sungmin groans, licks at Siwon’s cheekbone, the corner of his mouth, his chin. Dipping his head, Sungmin flicks the tip of his tongue along the line of Siwon’s jaw, then he goes lower, leaving a trail of kiss-bites across his throat, each one making Siwon gasp and shudder. His hands slide over Siwon’s chest, soft palms over hard muscle. He closes his fingers over a nipple, pinching it into a peak. Siwon groans, his hands clutching at Sungmin’s ass, pulling him closer. Moisture slicks between them. Sungmin grinds against him, enjoying the rough-soft sensation of Siwon’s pubic hair brushing over his own waxed skin.

“Min,” Siwon says, and his voice has risen, taken on a desperate quality. “Can we— Do you want—” He reaches backwards, almost topples the lamp, and yanks open the bedside drawer. He scrabbles inside, brings out a handful of foil-wrapped packets and a small bottle of lube, and drops them onto the bed.

Anxiety glimmers. “This is—this is...” Sungmin stops, gathers himself. “I’ve never—I mean, I _have_ , but not without Jade.”

Siwon strokes the length of Sungmin’s erection, gentle at first and then with a firmer grip. The condoms slide over the duvet at the movement. “You fucked Hyukjae as Jade?”

“Um. Yes.” Sungmin closes his eyes, pumps his cock into Siwon’s hand. “Me and Donghae. With a vibrator.”

“God.” Siwon buries his face against Sungmin’s neck. “You’re amazing.”

Sungmin laughs, a half strangled noise. He keeps fucking into Siwon’s grasp, doing it slow, taking his time. He reaches for Siwon’s dick and returns the favour. Siwon makes a snuffling sound and presses closer. His cock is thick and hot. Sungmin measures him against Hyukjae and Donghae and finds the comparison more than favourable. Anticipation blossoms. He moves his hand faster.

Siwon groans. “Wait. Please, wait. Not like this. I want you inside me.”

Startled, Sungmin lets go and jerks back. “You don’t want...?”

Siwon looks at him. “I want you.” He eases away, his face flushed and his eyes eager-bright. He picks up the nearest condom, feels around the hills and valleys of the duvet in search of the lubricant.

The respite is brief, but it gives Sungmin a chance to adjust. This time last week he was a woman getting fucked by her lover and his friend. Tonight he’s a man about to fuck another man. The possibility excites him, makes him hungry. He _wants_.

He pushes back the duvet and kneels up. Taking the foil packet, he tears it open and rolls the latex sheath over his cock. Siwon holds up the bottle of lube in triumph, laughing. His breath catches when Sungmin gives him a look, and then he’s squirming into a new position, legs spread, knees bent, feet flat on the mattress. His eyes dark and his breathing wild, he opens the bottle and squeezes a generous amount of lube over Sungmin’s outstretched hand.

Sungmin rubs his thumb across his fingers, warming the gel, then he goes down onto his elbows between Siwon’s thighs and inhales musk and heat. He kisses Siwon’s cock, nuzzles at his balls, licking into his warmth as he slides the lube around Siwon’s hole. Sungmin circles the tight opening with a fingertip, probing at the sensitive flesh.

Siwon mewls a little, shoves his shoulders back into the pillows as his hips jerk upwards. Sungmin lifts his gaze, sees shyness flash behind the lust. Siwon looks beautiful when he’s vulnerable. He won’t meet Sungmin’s stare; his eyes close and he tilts back his head, groaning softly.

Sungmin pushes his finger inside. Siwon’s groan sharpens; his body clenches then slowly relaxes. Sungmin licks at his cock again, a dab of tongue over the head, a flick-kiss into the slit, and Siwon arches up, his dick stabbing at Sungmin’s mouth. Sungmin relents, lets him in, and adds a second finger to the first, stretching Siwon’s hole.

“Fuck,” Siwon says. It’s not clear whether it’s exclamation or command. “Min. Let me kiss you. Please let me.”

Sungmin chuckles. It’s nice, this sense of power. It rolls down his spine, adds to his desire. He curls his fingers just a little, making Siwon writhe and moan, then he withdraws them and sits back on his heels. He takes the bottle and squeezes out more lube, strokes it over his cock, and settles on top of Siwon.

Siwon pushes up, moulding himself into the embrace. He bites at Sungmin’s upper lip, sucks on his upside-down pout. Lust slams through him, straight to his cock. Sungmin thrusts hard against Siwon’s belly, but that’s not enough, it’s never going to be enough. He pulls free. “Turn over.”

Siwon rolls onto his front, stuffing a pillow underneath his hips. It raises him up to just the right angle, and Sungmin admires the curve of his ass and the long line of his thighs and the smooth, glorious expanse of his back. Sungmin puts his hands on Siwon’s buttocks, parts them with his thumbs and looks at the glistening slide of lube glossing his hole. Keeping one hand on Siwon’s ass, Sungmin guides himself in with gradual movements of his hips until Siwon utters a desperate sound and slams backward.

“There,” he pants. “Yes. Min. Yes.”

Sungmin pulls back, thrusts in again. Siwon makes a shrill noise and grabs at the one remaining pillow in front of him. He scratches at it, his body quivering, muscles strained. Sungmin sinks in, slides out; he watches each thrust, watches as he claims Siwon. The note ringing around his head takes a higher tone, obliterates any rational thought. He obeys instinct, breathing, thrusting, fucking, melding his heat to Siwon’s. Beneath him, Siwon bucks, spreads his knees and pushes back hard in an attempt to force Sungmin deeper.

The sense of control is exhilarating. Sungmin snaps a command and Siwon obeys, bringing his hands down from the pillow and reaching back for him. Sungmin pins his wrists, leans his weight forward to hold Siwon down. Siwon struggles against him in play, driving back onto Sungmin’s cock, circling his hips in a long, slow grind, jerking forwards then snapping back.

“More,” Siwon begs. “Please, more. Harder.”

Sungmin buries himself in Siwon, holds still and gasps while Siwon squeezes his cock. He pulls out, plunges in. The note in his head turns into a whine, spirals around and around. There’s nothing but heat inside his body, a fierce heat and the need to come. Siwon trembles beneath him, voice hoarse, words incoherent. He pulls one hand free, grabs at his cock, jerks at it hard. He breaks apart, shuddering into orgasm, ramming himself back onto Sungmin’s cock.

The note in Sungmin’s head increases in intensity. He follows it, thrusts again and again. His climax shocks him, rips through him in a jagged strike of pleasure, and the note in his head smashes into splintered shards that scratch ecstasy from his flesh.

Sungmin gasps after breath, heart thundering as he continues to rock, gentle now, riding out the last moments of orgasm. He slips forward, presses against Siwon’s back. Their skin sticks together. The heat between them is incredible. Sungmin loosens his grip on Siwon’s wrist and kisses the back of his neck. They remain locked together until Sungmin feels his cock begin to soften. He moves then, withdraws and tends to the condom.

“God.” Siwon finds his voice, coughs, laughs. Sweat darkens his hair, stripes his body. He looks gorgeous. “What a mess.” He rolls to one side of the bed, grabs the discarded towel, and wipes himself clean with one corner before mopping up the puddle of his semen.

Sungmin gets up and disposes of the condom in the bathroom. He feels like he’s inhabiting someone else’s body as he returns to bed and climbs in beside Siwon. The smell of sex is hot and sharp in the air. Despite Siwon’s attempt to clean up, the wet patch lies between them, a damp and slimy demarcation.

Siwon turns off the lamp. They lie together in the darkness. Siwon holds Sungmin’s hand. “Min,” he says after a long moment, “do you still love Hyukjae?”

Sungmin takes a breath. “Ask me in the morning.”

* * *

Sungmin wakes from dreams of sunlight to find the sky overcast. He stretches in the morning grey, breathes in a familiar-unfamiliar scent, and rolls over to find Siwon watching him.

 _Well, now, this is awkward_ , he thinks, then he realises it’s not awkward, not remotely, and the knowledge shocks him. He holds still for a while, trying to separate out all the emotions he’s feeling, or that he thinks he should be feeling, and he’s surprised again when some of those emotions—guilt, for a start—are absent.

He remembers the last thing he said. He’s not going to be the first one to mention it now. He’s not going to be the first one to say anything at all. It’s too early for that, too early and too late.

Siwon brushes a kiss to Sungmin’s forehead then gets out of bed. He rolls the duvet back over Sungmin and wanders around the room, unselfconscious in his nudity. He dresses, then lays out another set of clothes. Still without speaking, he leaves the room but doesn’t quite close the door.

Sungmin hears the sound of the television. He stays in bed, allows himself to feel nothing but warmth, and then he kicks off the duvet and sits up. He looks at the outfit Siwon chose for him: a steel-grey t-shirt and half-length olive drab combat trousers that won’t look too ridiculous. He puts them on, feels like he’s reclaiming his own skin. He combs his hair with his fingers and looks in the bedroom mirror.

His reflection gazes back, serious and thoughtful and weary. He wonders if he’s different now. He wonders who he is, wonders which of his lovers knows him best.

This would be so easy if his heart wasn’t engaged.

He gets no answers from his reflection, no matter how hard or how long he looks. Sungmin abandons himself and goes out to face reality.

Siwon is sitting at the breakfast bar, nursing a large cup of coffee and staring at, rather than watching, the television. Sungmin glances at the screen, recognises a re-run of a period drama in which almost everyone dies. He turns his back on it and hitches himself up onto a stool.

“Breakfast,” Siwon says, muting the television. “That show is terrible. The main actor... terrible. I would also be terrible in that role. I would be worse, actually. The script is so bad.”

Sungmin smiles. “I never watched it.”

“You should. It’s terrible.” Siwon pushes the remote control over to him.

Sungmin shakes his head and leans his arms against the counter. Siwon serves him coffee and brioche. Sungmin eats; they talk, lightly, about nothing and everything. It’s comfortable, this is. It’s not awkward between them. It’s affectionate, the way it always is, and if there’s a deeper note to the affection, it’s something he can handle. He doesn’t need to run away from this.

“So,” Siwon says at last, when there’s a lull in conversation. He sets down his coffee with care, both hands folded around the cup. “Do you still love Hyukjae?”

Sungmin considers the question, weighs his answer. Everything’s that gone wrong is because he’s too afraid and Hyukjae is too honest. If it’s a mess now, Sungmin knows it’s his fault. Hyukjae isn’t to blame for any of this.

“Min?” Siwon prompts, very gently.

“Yes.” Sungmin stares at the few flaked crumbs on his plate. Heat burns behind his eyes. He lifts his gaze. “Yes, I still love him.”

Siwon exhales. He looks disappointed but not surprised. “Finish your breakfast. You need to tell him.”

* * *

Siwon drives them to the dorms. Sungmin sits beside him, in the front passenger seat this time, with Jade’s outfit and accoutrements folded inside a glossy bag with braided rope handles. The bag sits between his feet. His toes are cold, and he keeps curling them against the floor. He couldn’t go home wearing Jade’s shoes, and Siwon’s shoes don’t fit him.

He’s fine while they’re driving, while they’re stuck in traffic. He’s fine just listening to the radio. He’s fine until Siwon pulls up outside the apartment block, and then a rush of nauseated panic sweeps through Sungmin. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, fights back the sense of failure he’s held at bay for so long.

He’s more nervous than when he was Jade last night on the steps to the VIP box. He glances up at the windows of the dorms, but can’t see anyone past the clutter of banners and laundry and gifts from fans.

Siwon parks the car. He glances into the rear-view mirror, adjusts his collar, then looks over at Sungmin and smiles. “Showtime.”

Sungmin winces.

The ground is cold and hard beneath his bare feet. He runs into the lobby, jabs at the button for the lift. Siwon follows, carrying the bag. Sungmin takes it from him, clutches the handles so tight he thinks he’ll somehow give himself rope burn.

They don’t talk inside the lift. Sungmin doesn’t think he could make any kind of conversation. Fear drills through his skull. His body is as insubstantial as running water. When the doors slide open, Siwon has to urge him gently to move.

“It’s okay,” Siwon says. “It’ll be okay.”

Sungmin doesn’t believe him, but still he goes through the motions. He walks to the end of the corridor. On automatic, he reaches into his pocket for his keys. Stops. These are not his trousers. Remembers. His keys are in Jade’s purse. The purse is at the bottom of the bag. He lets go of one braided handle, starts to root through the bag, mechanical, slow, but speeding up as anxiety takes over. He can’t find the purse, he can’t find the keys. Hyukjae is on the other side of the door and he can’t reach him, can’t get to him, can’t even see him, and it’s all too much, it’s overwhelming, the fear, the bleak desperation of his love, and—

“Here,” says Siwon, so fucking kind and understanding as he leans forward and inserts his own key into the lock. “I’ve got it. Let me.”

The door swings open.

Sungmin takes a breath. Steps inside.

The usual noise greets them, then Jongwoon appears in the hallway, calls out, “It’s Siwon and Sungmin”, and MTV is switched off and an eerie silence descends.

Siwon places a hand on Sungmin’s shoulder and propels him forward. He jumps when the door snaps shut behind them. No way back, no way out. He keeps walking. The hallway has never seemed so long. His courage wavers as more figures fill his gaze.

Jongwoon. Ryeowook. Donghae. Hyukjae. They’re all staring. They know. They all know. Everyone _knows_.

Sungmin shakes off Siwon’s hand and half turns to him. It’s only now that he realises Siwon hasn’t bothered to do up his shirt all the way. He has bruises on his throat. Sungmin burns with shame and pride.

It’s Ryeowook who breaks the silence. “Min, are you all right?”

“Yes.” The answer hurts. It’s not a lie, but it’s not exactly the truth, either.

“Who won?” Donghae comes forward, an air of suppressed emotion gathered tight around him. “Jade, did he fuck you?”

Sungmin flinches.

“No.” Siwon sounds calm. “Sungmin fucked me.”

Silence smothers them. Only now can Sungmin look at Hyukjae. He looks, and realises that Hyukjae is wearing last night’s clothes, the beer stains dried into the t-shirt, and he wants to laugh, he wants to chide Hyukjae for being so untidy, but he can’t find the words, he can’t do anything but stare helplessly and wait for judgement.

There’s horror on Hyukjae’s face. “You cheated on me?” He’s pale, eyes ringed with tiredness, and then his expression crumples into devastation and lights with fury. “You cheated on me. You fucking bitch.”


End file.
